


The Human Child

by shatou



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Backstory, Cabbage-Gon, Character Study, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Qui-Gon Jinn’s Backstory, Qui-Gon Jinn’s Home Planet, That’s Not How The Living Force Works Either, That’s Not How the Force Works, half-assed conlang, half-assed worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24982306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatou/pseuds/shatou
Summary: Knight Dooku and his ten-year-old Padawan Rael Averross travel to Oleracia, a planet in the Outer Rim, to bring home a Force-sensitive child.
Relationships: Dooku & Qui-Gon Jinn, Dooku & Rael Averross, Rael Averross & Qui-Gon Jinn
Comments: 17
Kudos: 75





	The Human Child

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Dia for being my constant source of inspiration <33

The planet of Oleracia, seen from outside of its atmosphere, boasts a gentle, spring-bud green. Once they land, it’s easy to see why. Their ship is the only mechanical presence in the middle of a vast meadow. Around them, the foliage bursts with life, glittering almost timidly in the sun. Songbirds and winds and rustling leaves chorus with the faraway echo of a water stream. The grass is greener than the Nabooan prairies; the sky is bluer than an Alderaan summer. The living Force sings a ballad of love and life on Oleracia. To think, this is a planet on the Outer Rim, barely charted as it is. Dooku lets out a sigh and thank the Force he has made the decision to agree. He has been right; this place is as idyllic as can be for a first mission as Knight and Padawan.

Beside him, Rael sneezes.

Dooku glances down fondly at the boy beside him, standing no taller than his elbow. Having arrived late at the Temple, Rael has always been considered a misfit of sorts - if not by his teachers then by his peers. But the boy has raw talent in him, and a good heart. Neither his manners - or lack thereof - nor his stubborn accent should be an obstacle. 

“Are you quite alright, my Padawan?”

“Yes, Master.” Rael sniffles, rubs a hand over his nose. “There’s an, um, I think ‘s a butterfly, but I’ll be a’right.”

“Have you checked the coordinates?” Dooku inquires. As beautiful as this place might be, something feels odd. There isn’t a sentient in sight. The coordinates should have led them to at least a populated area, if there is a Force-sensitive infant to be found. Yet all they can hear and see are birds and insects, as it appears.

“I checked,” Rael insists, fumbling with his bag to dig out a holopad and a positioning device. Sudden anxiety and panic flares across the bond, _Did I do something wrong?_ , and Dooku tames it with reassurance that he feeds back, as well as a hand on the shoulder. “I don’t know. It says we’re not far.” The boy pauses, thoughtful. “I don’t see anyone. Shouldn’t there be a village or somethin’?”

His Padawan has innocently and inadvertently voiced all of his own doubts. Dooku shakes his head. “Perhaps so, or perhaps not. There is little place for assumptions.” He channels his focus into the living Force of the planet, asking for guidance, seeking sentient company. He scans the ground, further than the eyes could reach. Soon enough, he catches signs - a bowed flower, a flattened patch of grass. Footsteps. A beaten track. Air that filters through woodwind instruments - winds that become music. There are laughter; there are sentients.

“Come, my apprentice,” he says. “I think we have come to the right place.”

—

The feelings in the Force led them to a wild cabbage patch.

Extraordinarily large-sized cabbages, to be accurate. Larger than any of the imported sorts on Coruscant. Absolutely fascinating, no doubt. But it has nothing to do with their mission.

They’ve followed what Dooku believed to be a trail, and when they met a small river, they’d continued along the bank. People congregate by riversides, he reasoned. As it seems, no such thing happened here. The only sentient sounds that follow their footsteps are his Padawan’s insistent sneezing, the poor boy.

Rael’s patience has begun to thin. “Master, can we com the Council? Maybe someone read the Holocron wrong? Maybe someone wrote the Holocron wrong.” He sneezes again.

Dooku hands his Padawan a napkin. “No, Rael. We cannot do that. Patience, and center yourself.” He speaks in the usual voice he uses when he guides his Padawan into meditation. “Listen to the Force. Reach out with your senses.”

The truth is, Dooku himself is also beginning to doubt. He still senses the sentients, but they are strangely dispersed, and strangely intertwined with the rest of the land. It’s as if they are moving around him as he goes, and no matter how much he advances towards their direction, they would only slide away from him. It’s not hostility, he can feel, nor is it deliberate hypnosis. It’s not even avoidance, either. It simply is.

Rael takes off all of a sudden, without a word. He veers towards the denser woodlands. Dooku arcs a brow, but he lets the boy lead. His Padawan wanders off quite often, he has come to learn, and it does Rael more good than not. Perhaps he has sensed something, or perhaps he merely doesn’t want to stay idle.

“Master, look,” comes his breathless call. Rael is standing wide-eyed by a great, twisting tree. Dooku senses the strange life force before he even comes close enough to see it. Soft light glows from the cracks in the bark. Rael runs a hand along a line on the wood.

Then there is laughter.

Dooku rushes forward as Rael springs back with a cry. He quickly stands between his young Padawan and the tree. The tree that just _laughed_. 

“Did you hear…”

“Yes,” Dooku says, shushing his apprentice gently. He projects his voice. “Who is there? Please show yourself. We are Jedi, and we come in peace.”

“Oh, _keevatim maregg sa’dno._ ” The voice is soft as a rustle. “You _jinne_ are so serious.” 

“We mean what we said.” It occurs to Dooku that perhaps the voice is coming from right before him. “Would you grant us the honor of speaking face to face?”

“Face to face, you say? Well, if you want to.” The patterns in the tree glow brighter. Slowly, the lines in the bark swirl, and soon enough, the body of the tree has morphed into… something of a human. A wooden statue, perhaps, in the image of a human. Except they can move, and blink, and smile.

“Are you a tree? How’d you do that?” Rael says, wide-eyed. 

“The tree is me,” answers the voice, still with a hint of laughter as if in private joke. “We can all do it here, _jinne_. If we like someone, we can perceive their form.”

“Wow.” The boy is clearly more fascinated than frightened now. Dooku is not so enthusiastic. He understands now, how this place is not colonized. One would not know which vegetable is ethical for consumption. Maybe none of them are. “Can you stay this way?”

“You sure have a lot of question, _jinne_. Yes, I can, but I prefer the first form I took.”

Rael nods wisely, then blinks, and asks. “What’s _jinne_?”

 _Rael_ , Dooku whispers through their bond. _That’s quite enough questions already._ The boy looks up with a grin, only slightly sheepish. The tree rustles. “ _Adkessryn, odaeh._ A _jinn_ is you, a human. So, you said you came in peace. I suppose you’re here for a _quwa_?”

“A _quwa_?”

“ _Quwa ig’hhona._ ‘Bright child’. Powerful, I guess.” A sigh in the wind. “I don’t get it either. We all know there will be one.”

Dooku pauses, pondering, a hand on Rael’s shoulder in a reminder for him to stay quiet. “A Force-sensitive child,” he begins, testing the waters. The tree doesn’t respond, light glowing as if in wait. Truly, Dooku has never seen or heard of such a species before. “We were wondering where that child might be.”

“ _Madraggi_ , I don’t think I can help. The _quwa_ could be anywhere. _Hhonnon_ are everywhere. You know, children.”

The tree - _sentient_ tree - is not trying to be difficult, he can tell. They seem to be deep in thoughts for a moment. Winds rustle through their leaves. 

“You, _hhona_.”

“Me?” Rael says, surprised, and straightens himself when Dooku looks down at him.

“Yes, child, you. You’ll find the _quwa_ the way you found me.”

“But I didn’t… I didn’t find you. I was just...”

Another laughter. “You tickled me awake.” Rael goes pink, and Dooku bites back a smile. The tree continues, gently. “You can find your fellow _quwa_ . Let your _ikreni_ guide you. Now can I go back to sleep, _jinne_?”

“Of course,” Dooku bows his head. “We shall not trouble you any longer.”

—

They sit on the grass, beside the stream. Dooku is not overly fond of the idea of reporting to the Council an unsuccessful mission. If he were alone, he would have stayed here for days on end, until he find that child - the _quwa ig’hhona_ , as the Oleracian calls it. However, Rael’s sneezing has only gone worse in the past hour or so. Rael has insisted that he’s fine, but Rael _always_ insists he is fine. Dooku lets out a subtle sigh, lest his Padawan asks.

“Perhaps we should consider it a mistake in the records,” Dooku says finally.

Rael turns to him with a look of betrayal. “But that would be lying, Master. There is a qu… a qwa…”

“A _quwa ig’hhona_.”

“There is a baby here,” Rael finishes, and sneezes.

Dooku regards him for a few moments. He has never known Rael to be allergic to anything. Even right now, his Padawan doesn’t seem to react in any other way - he’s not red-faced, he’s not stuffy-nosed, his eyes are bright and clear, just narrowed under frowning brows.

And throughout their conversation with the Oleracian, Rael hasn’t sneezed once.

“Rael, young one,” Dooku begins. “How did you find the tree-person?”

Rael frowns deeper. “I dunno. I just,” he pauses, lips pursed in thoughts. “I was gettin’ tired of sneezing. And then I,” he sneezes again, poor boy, “I feel like, if I go over there, it’ll get better. So I did.”

“Did it get better?” Dooku inquires.

Rael’s creased forehead smoothes out as realization dawns on his face. “...Yeah. I mean, yes, Master.”

Dooku smiles. “Would you mind doing it again, then, Rael?”

—

Rael’s quest to ease his sneezing brings them back to the wild cabbages. Given their experience with the Oleracian tree-person, it’s true - the child they are to retrieve could be anywhere in here. Rael stands knee-deep in deep green, curly leaves, tongue peeking out as he looks intensely on the ground.

 _There is no basis to this_ , Dooku thinks to himself, chastising, as he searches the patch. It wasn’t like him to rely on the allergic reaction of a ten-year-old Padawan as crucial pointer for a mission. This is Rael’s first time off world since he has been brought to Coruscant; it is hardly unusual that he has a strange reaction to the atmosphere.

And yet, Dooku searches.

He lets the Force guide him. There is a glimmer, a wisp of something small but bright, tugging at him from the periphery. The living Force is still singing; only, the notes suddenly rise to a rich harmony. Dooku kneels down right there, runs his hand along the veins of a particularly large and intact leaf. It doesn’t glow to his eyes, but the tingle of the Force against his finger pads is unmistaken.

“Did you find him?” Rael has come up behind him, whispering in awe. Dooku glances his way, nods, and focuses back on the plant. He parts the leaves, and sure enough, there it is. The _quwa_.

Curled up in a fetal position, cradled by the folds of leaves, is a sentient in the shape of a human male infant. The baby looks to be asleep, eyes soudly shut, tiny chest rising and falling in tiny breaths. He sighs a little when Dooku runs a finger along the top of his head.

“Why’s he like this and not like that tree?” Rael is ever a Padawan of many questions. “He looks just like us.”

“I do not know, my Padawan,” Dooku answers. He finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the child before him. “Perhaps it’s because we are the first to find him.” Didn’t the Oleracian say just that? They can take the shape of those like. And though this infant has yet to even open his eyes, he is strong in the Force. He must have perceived their form already.

“He’s a _jinn_ then,” Rael declares. “Just like us.”

A human. “And a _quwa ig’hhona_ ,” Dooku whispers. Tentatively, he uses the Force to separate the earth from the cabbage, pulling it free from the ground without disturbing the child.

“Yeah, a _quaigonne_ ,” Rael repeats, or attempts to. His accent remains as distinct as ever. Dooku doesn’t have the heart to correct him - and besides, it is a much easier to pronounce rendition. A more endearing one, even.

“Qui-Gon,” he muses, peeling off the outer layers of leaves until there is only a handful of curled greens around the child, like a blanket.

“That should be his name,” Rael says. “Qui-Gon. The human born from Oleracia.”

Dooku cradles the infant in the crook of his arm, shifts a corner of the leaf to better cover the child. As if sensing warmth, the child stirs, and reaches out. Small yet fierce fingers curl around Dooku’s pointer finger.

“All right,” Dooku replies, little above a whisper. “Qui-Gon Jinn he is, then.”

Qui-Gon Jinn babbles softly, and nestles closer against his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> This thing came to life when I realized Qui-Gon has no official backstory whatsoever, beside a single rock he found and gave Obi-Wan. Dia immediately he was born from a patch of cabbage, and he seems like a swell magical dad, and I couldn’t help myself.
> 
> I snatched the name Oleracia from _Brassica oleracea_ which, you guessed it, is the scientific name for wild cabbage.
> 
> Anyway, let’s make Cabbage-Gon a thing.


End file.
